I wish I knew how to quit you
by Mansah
Summary: Blair discovers that the one thing you can't control is your heart because it's hard to let go, even if it's all you want. Follows from 4x01 and onwards.


I do not own Gossip Girl or any of the characters. Title from _Brokeback Mountain_. Criticism and reviews are always appreciated and loved:D

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You used to think films exaggerated when they portrayed moping women eating their hearts out post break-up. You used to scoff and think them weak, saying it was no wonder they were so unhappy considering how they lived. Now you think they're making it look too easy. You tried eating your heart out one macaroon at a time; mostly it just results in a visit to the toilet afterwards, you bending over the porcelain cistern ridding yourself of your stomach's contents. For a second afterwards there's relief when the acid temporarily kills all other thoughts and feelings. Then the pain returns. You always dreamt of living a fairy tale, you just never thought it would be _The Little Mermaid_, you wonder if it would hurt less if the pain was in your feet.

The first couple of weeks you cry yourself to sleep but you've made a promise to yourself that Paris will be a place for new beginnings, from the moment you get on that plane with Serena there will be no more tears. And there aren't, at least not in public. If you wake up with red eyes in the morning you blame it on allergies, complain about the French and what a disgrace it is they can't make proper linen when they're usually good at all things luxurious. You can even sleep normally, so what if it's no longer the peaceful rest it used to be? So what if he's always there in every dream you remember; at least sometimes you get to kill him in them, those are the good ones. The nightmares are when you're back together, all idyllic and everything forgotten. You don't know what frightens you the most about them; the fact that they make you want to forgive him all or that you always miss him more afterwards. But you're getting better at denying their existence, in any case Freud was wrong when he said that dreams are messages from our subconscious telling us of our desires and even if he isn't you know better than anyone that sometimes what you want isn't necessarily what's best for you.

You don't think of him during the day, don't talk about him, don't mention him at all. Okay, so maybe sometimes (often) your thoughts stray in that direction but thoughts are difficult to control, there's nothing you can do about it is there. Nor can you help it if on occasion you check for updates on Gossip Girl, you know you promised Serena you wouldn't but she probably knows anyway and you blame it on the fact that old habits die hard, you wish they didn't. You wish that they'd die quickly and leave no memory behind because even the little things hurt.

You're relieved that pretence comes so easy. All those years of denying the unpleasant and creating make believe worlds come in handy. It makes it easier to believe that you're okay – to yourself and everybody else. Makes it easier to shut that hurting part of you down; lock it away somewhere at the back of your mind with other ugly thoughts like never perfect, not worthy, second best, easy to leave. If you pretend that you're okay long enough maybe one day you will be. Except for the days when you really see no end to your misery; when all you want to do is cuddle up under a duvet _Tiffany's_ playing on the TV and a couple of croissants to share with Serena. You hate that even now, months later you still have those days. Surely, for things to be fair things should be easier after a while? You also hate that all these days do to you is add extra weight to your hips. But you realised quickly that being heartbroken is neither graceful nor romantic, merely one big mess; a jumble of constant humiliation and sadness and anger.

But it's hard; it's hard because inside you there are several people constantly clamouring for attention – one who wants revenge, one who wants to forget, one who wants to forgive, one who wants to move on. It's no lie when you say that you wish you had some guy to entertain you, someone to distract you and to make you feel cherished. And you know you're being ridiculous when you let your date be ruined because your prince turned out to be the pauper but this night was meant to be an escape from the dreary thing that is your life; it was meant to make everything alright again. You hate it that reality won't ever play along with your plans and you're so disappointed, so frustrated you could scream or cry or lash out. You choose the latter; date-implosion and a wet Serena is the result but you don't feel any better. It still hurts and you feel lost and just want someone to tell you that you'll be okay.

You'll work harder to rid yourself of him, your promise yourself that when you've apologised to Serena and won a second date with your prince. It's getting essential that you move on just a little because summer is ending and you'll be back in the city soon, he'll be there too and even if you swore you'd never talk to him again you know you won't be able to avoid him. So you steel yourself, practising in front of the mirror, rehearsing meetings. It's not a chance to think of him you say, it's to prepare you for the day when you're standing in front of him. 'I don't love you anymore' you repeat to yourself over and over again, you wonder if it'll ever be true. The truth is; these rehearsals are making you more confident, more hopeful. Lulls you into the belief that you're getting to a place where he can't touch you anymore but then suddenly he's there, before you expected and all you'd prepared to say wither and die in your mouth. If only your eyes hadn't locked with his. If only he hadn't come for you. As this thought strikes you you're angry, the anger helps. As long as you hold on to the madness you have a shield against him, it gives you the ability to snap yourself out of the desire to ask Serena about him when she says she's met him, it makes you almost not care that he's shot holding on to an engagement ring.

You try to focus on the man who does care, who will treat you like a princess, who comes with promises of a different fairy tale. You know you need it and when you find yourself brushing Serena off you feel that maybe there's a chance to feel sparkly once more, it's true when you tell her you can't be dragged into the darkness again but it's more than that, it's not just that you need to move on, it's not just that you need to stop caring, it's that you need to start loving yourself again, find a new beginning –write yourself into a story where you're not smudged by sex trade or any other kind of self-debasement. As Serena grows more persistent you get more desperate, put your feelings into words. _I can't care about that. I can't care about him. It's too hard. Don't make me._ It comes across almost as a plea because you've been trying so hard all summer and you actually thought you were getting there (that's a lie but you had learned to live with the pain, it's like losing a limb really, you learn to continue existing with or without it). But she knows you so well, too well, which is why you find your resolve crumble and yourself abandoning your Prince Charming for the Bogeyman. In the taxi you repeat to yourself the words that have been your mantra lately: _I don't love you anymore, I don't love you anymore, I'm over you_. The words come easy to you and if it wasn't that you find yourself running out the taxi as soon as you get to the station you might actually believe their truth.

When you see him you walk slowly, try to keep calm, stay cool and pretend it's not breaking your heart seeing him. If you were an actress this would be your Oscar-winning performance, you know it from the moment you open your mouth to comment on his new clothes. If your whole body hadn't been aching you'd love this moment because it turns out so perfect; from start to finish there's bittersweet humour and heartbreak, grace and elegance and regret and dignity. It goes even better than any conversation you've rehearsed in front of the mirror and you're relived, deep down, because even if you don't believe your own words yet at least you're able to say them, there's some comfort there. You won't even admit it to yourself but perhaps there's a part of you that is slightly relieved that he looks as miserable as you, as heartbroken as you. At least you're both still nursing your wounds; there's a consolation in that and when you say the words that have caused you so much trouble to learn they feel important because you both need to hear them. _I don't love you anymore, but not even you can destroy Blair Waldorf._ Even as your eyes are tearing up you feel a certainty that this might be true, that he can't destroy you, that this won't destroy you.

Leaving that night with Serena you're hopeful, more optimistic than you have been since forever that your misery will end. It's what gives you the strength to give up the fairy tale that you might have had in Paris and return home. Maybe if you'd looked closer at your feelings then you would have realised that even if you won one battle there are too many yet to come. Wounds don't heal overnight, even if for a fragment of a second it feels like they have.

Realisation comes when you see the first Gossip Girl blasts of him returned to the city. For a minute you feel confident because you've been prepared for this and you're okay. You were stupid to think it would be easy because he's not alone, and there's a pang in your heart that you can't deny no matter how hard you try. But you close your eyes and ignore, ignore, ignore. It's another game, it's meaningless, it's nothing to you. You're determined to stay away from it all, not give up the strength you found in Paris but when you see her there in shops that you frequent you can't help yourself, it's definitely not your proudest moment (but you've done worse and you know it) but it's so easy; all the anger, all the frustrations and the hurt that still remains locked in your body suddenly transformed into words designed to shred a person to pieces and for a moment it feels glorious, for a moment the taste of triumph is stronger than any heartburn. Another little victory to hold on to; small victories is all you have in this battle for command (and for once it's not him you're fighting but yourself). But it doesn't last long because your words are turned against you; all you do lately seems to come apart at the seam. Make you look worse than ever, but it's not fair because all you're trying to do is get your heart back. Your triumph is not a triumph, it's another chance for the boy you used to love (still love and why can't you get over him) to look down on you. It's worse than it ever was before because not only do you have to watch him kiss her (and you can joke about that, say it confounds you that he's trading down but it's all a sham, a way to cover the hurt and the doubt that you're feeling) you're now starting to fear he's forgotten that he ever loved you; that all you are, all you were together, has become part of something he's ashamed of. It shouldn't matter to you, you know that, it shouldn't hurt, it shouldn't taunt you like it does but how do you keep a heart from caring? You wish you knew how to quit him.

But it's like a reflex, a bad habit; you can't keep away no matter the pain. You used to think the biggest problem for getting over him was that he wouldn't let you alone, that he wouldn't give up the chase or let you quit the game. You never expected him to quit first, never expected him to let go so easily and drown himself in a different life. You realise now the problem is you; that you can't give him up no matter what or how hard you try. It doesn't make you feel any better that you realise this as you sit on the cool marble floor of the bathroom having just purged all your frustrations into the porcelain bowl against which you're now resting your cheek. At least the porcelain doesn't reproach you for what you do, at least it doesn't ask questions, doesn't seek answers. You're certain that realising this will make it easier to keep strong, to not give in to the desire of keeping tabs but only the next day you find yourself spying on Gossip Girl again, following his pursuits, his dealings with Eva; find yourself caring that he gives her bigger presents than he ever gave you. Maybe if you would still allow yourself to cry about this it would be easier, maybe if you would admit to yourself that you needed more time to be okay with him seeing other people you wouldn't get yourself entangled in more mess. But you're too caught up in everything and it's easy to pretend that what you're doing has nothing to do with being in love and everything to do with friendship.

It ends up with an angry Chuck, Eva leaving and everything generally unclassily handled. You've always warned other people not to be blinded by their heart; the story of Anne Boleyn is not just a cautionary tale for Little Jenny Humphrey and you know already that you're the next in line to have your head chopped off. It's a little ironic that when Chuck finally comes to see you it is as your executioner, but you hope that once he's killed you once and for all you can finally let go. Clearly you're still underestimating the perseverance of your heart because there's nothing to leave you satisfied and when he finally calls, a storm in his wake, it can't help but flutter and burn no matter how much you try to keep it quiet. As he leaves declaring war on you the only thing you're proud of is that you've finally learnt to say your lines so that not even he can see when your eyes don't match your mouth. (Because how can you still love him after what he did?) Who says practise doesn't make perfect? The horrible thing is even now there's still a part of you that mourns his blindness because he used to know you so well. The fact that you can even think this fills your mouth with bile but instead of heading to the bathroom you head for Serena, the safe harbour in all of this because even if she probably won't condone your earlier actions (even you don't, you hate it, but heartache is as good as claim for temporary insanity as any other, you're sure of it and in any case you can't allow yourself to regret it now) she knows. Knows without needing to be told, comforts without needing to hear. As you fling yourself into her arms, burying your head on her shoulder you wish you'd finally reached breaking point and this would be the last time when you cared, because how could any pain be worse than what you're feeling now. For once though, you're not kidding yourself, it's as hard a thing to accept as the fact that you were able to forgive him for selling you for a hotel but you're getting better at pretending, better at shutting your feelings out so maybe there is hope for you yet. As you lie there folded in Serena's arms, crying your heart out it feels right. Maybe it would be easier if you just gave up and accepted that you haven't moved on, that you can't move on but even as you think the thought you refuse to accept it. You've seen others find a second love, and even if once you thought you were too horrible for anyone to love you, you know that's not the truth maybe with time it won't hurt so much, maybe in time you're ready for another fairy tale because if there's one thing you know is true in all the lies you've told recently it's that no one can destroy you.


End file.
